


Obvious

by psocoptera



Series: Chemistry [1]
Category: Boy Meets Boy (Comic)
Genre: Early Work, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-01-18
Updated: 2014-07-27
Packaged: 2018-02-10 14:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2028495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/psocoptera/pseuds/psocoptera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cyanide has issues.  Harley has a clue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Boy Meets Boy was an important early fandom for me, but dang these stories are raw. Regarding Rasheequa's accent and Cyanide's Spanish: when I wrote these stories, I was trying to mimic the way the characters spoke in the comic. If I were writing them now, I would handle that somewhat differently. My apologies to anyone who might feel that their way of talking is being appropriated, mocked, or mangled in these stories.

The drummer had lost the beat.

Harley Goldman glared at the faltering boy as the last guitar chords faded from the air. Dammit, it was the fourth time Cyanide had fumbled an entrance, but if he called him on it he'd probably go all defensive and deny it. 

Harley would have been surprised to know that not only would Cyanide admit he had lost the beat, he privately thought he had lost his mind months ago. 

"Are you with us today, Cya?" he asked lightly. "You seem a little distracted... got your mind on chemistry or something?" 

Cyanide blinked and kept his eyes from jerking to the side. "Uh... chemistry, yeah," he said weakly. Chemistry... physical chemistry...reactions... excited states... attraction between charged ions... no. Equilibrium, Cy. Activation barriers. "I'm paying attention." 

Harley smiled. "Shibby. Let's play, guys! Um, and 'Sheequa," anticipating her "ahem". 

The problem, Cyanide thought, as they swung once again into the song they had been trying to practice, was that the drummer was always in back. The guitarists, including one liberated from the keyboard stand by the demands of the song, could turn to face each other or look outwards in the direction of a hypothetical audience as they wished. But he was stuck, and it gave him a perfect view of a certain pair of gyrating hips. Fuck, why couldn't that boy hold still when he played? And fuck, why did he even care? 

He just barely managed to catch his entrance, pounding his frustration out on the drums. 

*** 

"Mik?" 

"Mm-hm?" 

"I think something's wrong with Cyanide." 

"Um... mm-hm?" 

"He seemed really out of it at practice." 

"Mm-hm." 

"And he doesn't like the song we're working on." 

"Mmph." 

"Hey! It's a great song! Skids is hot on the backup line..." 

"Mm-hm." 

"And Cy even agrees! So I don't see what his problem is." 

"Mm." 

"Maybe he's just stressed with midterms..." 

"Hmm..." 

"But I'd still like to cheer him up someh - Mik? Would you get your face out of my neck for a minute and talk to me?" 

Pause. 

"Harl, did you really just say that?" 

"Uhh... no?" 

Rustling, shifting around. 

"What did you mean to say?" 

"I... ooh, I meant... unh... Mik..." 

"Mmmm..." 

*** 

The burden of keeping Cyanide's secret from Harley was proving to be so, er, demanding, that Mik was wondering whether Cyanide might have any *other* secrets he'd like kept. But Harley was still worrying about Cyanide the next day when the Rasputin Distraction Method wore off. And at their next practice. Cyanide just seemed stressed and preoccupied, and unwilling to talk about it. He and the rest of Mostly Boy Band had been invited to a trying-to-block-out-the-reality-of-midterms party at the university that weekend; Harley was hoping it would also work as a blocking-out-whatever-was-bugging-Cyanide party. 

It didn't quite work out that way. 

*** 

It was loud, and there was a lot of beer, which had seemed like a decent beginning. Rasheequa had almost immediately vanished into the crowd with a small clump of friends. Harley had amused himself watching his two friends: girl after girl came up to Skids to introduce themselves, to say he looked familiar, to ask how he liked the party, to ask if he wanted to dance. Skids was unfailingly polite, and seemed to be having fun, but occasionally looked back at Harley, grinned sheepishly, and shrugged, as if to ask, "why me?". 

Cyanide, in contrast, cast wolfish looks and even danced a couple of times with girls in particularly tight clothing. But he got crankier and crankier as the evening progressed. 

Harley, between talking to Cya, had managed to run into a couple of aspiring rockers, who (shibby!) had just gotten a gig Harley promised to attend, and even a former high school classmate, catching up with whom made, truth be told, a rather nice break from Cyanide, Boy Of Nasty Comments, and his deepening scowl which inevitably snapped back to... Skids. OH! 

Harley felt abruptly, abysmally stupid. How could he have missed that? It was like something was jamming his gaydar! He thought about it for a moment... maybe he *was* being jammed, by Cya's role as "the hetero", by Cya himself, who obviously didn't want to be as obviously hot for Skids as he obviously was, now that Harley had located his long-lost clue, at least. 

Cyanide was sulking in the vicinity of the keg, but didn't seem to be drinking. Harley ever so casually made a beeline for him. 

"Hey, Cy, what's up?", he asked, sounding friendly in the manner of one reading lines off a screen. 

Cyanide glanced at him skeptically. 

"Not much, Harley," he replied, in a similarly overly theatrical way. "Why are we practicing sounding like a bad radio commercial? Gee, Cyanide, I don't know. And then," he continued in a normal voice, "the Authoritative Voice cuts in to point out that all our troubles would be solved if only we changed long-distance providers." 

Harley laughed. "If only I had known it was that easy!" He looked at the keg, and managing to sound much less staged, he asked, "Had much to drink?", filling a cup from the keg as he spoke. 

Cyanide spread his empty hands to show the utter absence of a paper cup. "Not really, no." 

Harley nodded sagely. "Oh, because you're worried what you might do to Skids if you lost too many inhibitions?" 

It was just as well that Cyanide wasn't holding a drink, because he certainly would have dropped it, seeing as he dropped himself, sitting down heavily on the floor with an audible "thump". He made a squeaking noise that under any other circumstances Harley would have teased him for mercilessly. 

Instead, he put his fingertips to Cya's forehead and gently drew his eyebrows down from his hairline. 

"Relax," he said softly. "Is it that bad for me to know what's going on in my best friend's life?" 

Cyanide thought vainly of denying it, blaming his reaction over shock at the very idea, but figured anytime after the squeak was probably too late. 

"Um...?" he tried. "Uh... I wouldn't say there's anything going on." 

"Are you *denying* your deep, passionate, heartfelt, abiding lust for him?" 

In a movie, that's exactly where Skids would have shown up with a perky comment like "Ooh, him who?!" Fortunately it wasn't a movie. Unfortunately, that meant Cyanide had to either answer the question or lie to his best friend. 

He shook his head. "I wouldn't exactly say..." Dammit. Which of "deep", "passionate", "heartfelt", and "abiding" could he disagree with? Harley made it sound so... serious. 

He wasn't even denying it! "So you're, like, secretly bisexual??!" 

Fortunately the DJ chose just that moment to cue the siren effect, or Cyanide would have been outed to half the room. 

He shook his head. "Nuh-uh, it's nothing like that, I don't like boys. I just like Skids. I'm, like, "best-friend-sexual" or something fucked up like that." He saw Harley's eyes widen. "No, I didn't mean it like that! Not *you*! Just him, I don't think about you like that." 

But now Harley was making one of his wounded faces. "You're not best- friend-sexual," he said, and his voice caught. "You never thought about me like that." 

Cyanide looked at him in confusion. "Would you have *wanted* me to?" he asked slowly. 

"Cy, who do you think my first crush was on?" 

"Sure, Billy Joe from Green Day, right?" 

"Um... no, I didn't want to tell you." 

"Oh man, it better not have been Luke Perry or something." 

"Cy, no, my first crush on someone I actually knew." 

"Man, you better not be about to tell me it was Mr. Shapiro from homeroom, I always knew you must have some twisted reason for wanting to do yearbook." 

Harley ground his teeth. Had someone been slipping obliviousness powder into the Boy Band water pitcher? 

"Cyanide, think about it. Who had style and attitude when the rest of us were still letting our mothers buy our clothes?" 

"No mames! Me? You're hot for me?" 

Harley rolled his eyes. "I was mostly over it by the time I came out to the band," he explained. "Then I met Mik, and, well..." his eyes glazed over and he started smiling dreamily. 

Cyanide smacked him on the arm to snap him out of it before the orchestra could start up, or worse yet, a flashback. 

"Er, right. Anyways, did you know Tabitha predicted you guys were going to get together? I refused to believe it... I guess I was just jealous that you'd be willing to date a guy if it was Skids, but not me. But, you know, I've had time to think about it, and, well, I can hardly blame you for liking Skids, because god knows if it wasn't for Mik-" he broke off. "Whoa there, too much information there Harley, huh. But I guess Tabitha will be showing up to say "I told you so" any day now. So when are you going to ask him out?" 

Cyanide stared at Harley blankly. "I'm not, Harls. Look at him out there." Skids had one girl draped over his back while another pressed herself back against him in front. He saw them staring and gave an innocent, apologetic grin. 

"You think I should go take one of their places? Get in line to flirt?" 

"Oh, you don't want anyone to see you flirting with a boy, is that it?" Harley snapped. 

"No, I don't want Skids to wonder why his former best friend is now one of his drooling admirers! Dude, he gets enough of that. Me, he can hang out with, he doesn't have to feel uncomfortable knowing I want to grind my crotch on his ass." 

Harley's pupils dilated. That mental image... he suspected he and Cyanide were mere seconds from a mutual nosebleed. He coughed. 

"But you do want to, and, if you told him that, you might actually get to..." 

Cyanide shook his head. "It's not worth it, dude," he said sadly. "I'd give anything but Skids," he shrugged, "And that's what I would be risking, Skids, the band... you guys are my best friends, I'd have to be a real capullo to mess with that. If he felt uncomfortable... Harley, he might feel like he couldn't even hang out with me anymore! We couldn't jam together or anything. And the worst part is, the bobo would blame himself for feeling uncomfortable... he'd feel so awful, I could never forgive myself. I can't let this change anything." 

Couldn't jam together. Harley remembered why he had been worried about Cyanide in the first place... it was already changing things. Maybe Cyanide didn't realize it, but his playing was off, his temper was off, hell - he took a good look - his nails were chipped and his hair was looking limp. Things were obviously Not Okay in the land of Cya, and just as obviously, something had to be done. Yes, Something Had To Be Done. He got himself another drink and used the pause to think furiously. 

Hook him up with someone else? If Cy hadn't fallen for Faith, the "female Skids", he probably wasn't going to fall for anyone else any time soon either. So he'd have to get him together with Skids. Maybe get them drunk then leave them alone together? But Cya would probably squirm out of it somehow. Howbout if Skids got hurt somehow and needed Cyanide to help him... NO. The thought of Skids being hurt... it would be like beating a puppy, like running through flowerbeds in his shit- kickers, like... okay, Harley, focus. How to get Cy over this "Skids is going to freak out" thing. 

Huh, was he sure Skids *wouldn't* freak out? Harley realized that he was letting his own opinion of his two best friends ("any guy who couldn't have Mik would be lucky to date either of them") interfere with his assessment of the situation. How would Skids react? 

He looked up to see Skids, surrounded by gorgeous women, one of whom had stripped down to her bra, staring forlornly across the room towards Cyanide, who, staring down at his fingernails gloomily, missed it entirely. Harley didn't think he had seen a look that longing since... well, since Mik last night, but did that really count on the same scale as for normal people? Wait, had he just called Skids and Cyanide normal? Skids was now pressing his fingers to his lips, his eyes liquid and full of his soul. Ok, Skids wasn't going to be a problem. 

So all he had to do was convince Cy to make a move, and Skids' obvious feelings would do the rest. But, he rather suspected the "you are being an idiot" argument was not going to pack sufficient persuasive power... he couldn't just tell Cyanide Skids obviously felt the same way, because it was becoming obvious that "obvious" meant something along the lines of "inconceivable": no one thought it meant what you thought it meant. 

He looked back and forth between Cyanide and Skids in perplexity. What to do? And then, glancing at Skids, he realized the woman in the bra was Rasheequa. 

Oh. My. God. She had to be toasted off her ass... 'Sheequa, proud, poised, *feminist* 'Sheequa, was running around shirtless? No, not running around... slithering around Skids! Harley's mind whirled. He had figured Cya was "appreciative" of their bassist - come to think of it, he was surprised he was ignoring her - but he had had no idea she found any of them attractive. But of course, it was Skids... and really, who could blame her? 

Harley bent down the keg to top off his beer. And then things started happening very fast. 

He straightened up and saw that Skids was no longer staring at Cyanide, his attention was now focused on Rasheequa. Cya had also spotted Rasheequa and was having some sort of profound reaction that involved a lot of blinking, which was not stopping him from trying to make his way across the room towards her (or Skids). Jeez, you couldn't take your eyes off these people for a second! Now Skids was talking to Rasheequa, who was wrapping her arms around his neck, while Cy (Skids winced) had just gotten whacked in the eye by an overenthusiastic dancer. But, he didn't look upset, just determined, okay, *now* he was looking upset, as Skids took off his shirt and wrapped it around Sheequa's shoulders. Aw, that was kind of sweet, really (not to mention Skids looking pretty good in that undershirt), but Cya was stopping dead. Ok, so when Cy had seen Rasheequa hitting on Skids, he had realized that even *not* saying anything he was still risking things changing if Skids started dating someone else, but when he had seen Skids give his shirt to 'Sheequa, he had assumed it was too late and Skids liked her... wow, and he, Harley, was seeing all of it; he was, like, Clue Guy! The Forces of Obliviousness would never triumph over him again! 

Er, right. With his newfound power of seeing the obvious, he could see that Skids wasn't attracted to 'Sheequa, he was just being nice to her because they were friends, and probably because he felt embarrassed for her. Would Cyanide believe that? In a word, no. And Rasheequa liked Skids, but it was because Skids was a cute guy who wasn't a jerk and she wanted some fun, not the kind of deep-rooted passion Cy and Skids had going (Harley still had to shake his head a little over that one, but he had gotten his clue and there was no ignoring it). So, could he set Rasheequa up with somebody? Hm, but he had used up Flash on Faith, and, he had to admit, he really didn't know all that many people, much less straight men, in fact he was starting to wonder just how many fewer straight men he knew than he thought he did... but ooh, Skids was leading Rasheequa off, probably just looking for a place to sit down, and Cy was still standing like an inconvenient post in the middle of the dancers, and it was not the time to work on a gaydar upgrade. 

And then he saw it. He, Harlequinn Goldman, was going to make the ultimate sacrifice. He was going to hit on a woman. 

Ew. 

Well, as much as action was needed immediately, first he was going to finish his beer, and then first he was going to call his boyfriend. He made his rather unsteady way down the hall to a phone. 

"Mik!" 

"Miss me, Harl?" The Russian chuckled affectionately. His boyfriend sounded well-partied, and with any luck was asking to be picked up, taken home, and - 

"Yeah, but, but, listen to this: Cyanide has a crush on Skids!" 

Mik had to stifle a laugh. So his precious Harley had finally caught on, and without any hints from him. This should be interesting. 

"Oh, really? The great Cyanide Torres fallen for a mere mortal?" 

Harley ignored, or possibly missed, the sarcasm. "Yeah, so I need to sleep with Rasheequa." 

Pause. 

"Er... what? What??!!" 

"Or, well, I need to make her think I want to, maybe. See, it's, iss like this..." It was all so clear in his head. "Cya likes Skids and Skids likes Cya but 'Sheequa likes Skids only she doesn't really but Cya thinks so and thinks Skids likes her and, see, I learned this one time in high school that the triangle is like the most stable shape that's why radio towers look like that all diagonal-ly but a square can collapse and besides I'm the only one who knows what's going on." 

"Er... Harley, my love? How much have you had to drink?" 

Harley took a deep breath. Okay, maybe he was sounding a little mixed up. "Well, I'm not saying I want to get her name tattooed on my ass-" 

"I would certainly hope not." 

"-but they're my friends, Mik, I have to do something. But only if you don't mind, that's why I'm calling you, because I'd even rather..." he gulped. "I'd even rather lose them than hurt you," he finished. 

Mik was touched. And... she was just a woman, after all, it wasn't * exactly* like Harley being unfaithful. And maybe better to get Skids tied up with Cyanide before there could be any more impromptu body- painting sessions... but, grrr, the thought of *anyone* else hearing the noises his Harley made! Or getting to touch his belly! Or even thinking for a minute that they were going to get to even if really they weren't because it was all part of some convoluted and not-very- sensible plan! Grrr! 

"You're being very silly," he told his lover, "And I'll be there to pick you up in fifteen minutes." 

"Wait, so - " Harley began. But Mik had already hung up. 

Was that a yes? A no? An "I don't care"? Harley's new clue continued functioning obstinately and pointed out it was probably more of an "I care so much I want to talk to you in person." Ok, sometimes a clue could be kind of annoying. In a sudden premonition, Harley saw things like Responsibility and Maturity ready to descend upon him. 

But enough time for that later, like in fifteen minutes. Now... back to the party... where, okay, seething mass of bodies... hm, new DJ, nice mix... okay, there. 

Oh dear. Now *Cyanide* was dancing far too close to Rasheequa, who had given the shirt back to its owner, who was standing there glowering not six feet away, or, well, glowering as much as someone with that face could glower. Honestly, it was more of a pout, and pretty pathetic looking. 

Harley hitched his pants and waded in, in which time Cyanide did a couple of things that were quite possibly felonies in conservative parts of the country. Skids smiled briefly at his arrival, then frowned. 

"I don't think it's very shibby of Cya to be all over 'Sheequa like that when she's drunk," he said, his voice that of innocence disappointed. "I thought we should take her home but Cy got all mad at me." 

Harley sighed and gritted his teeth. He walked forward and deftly grabbed Rasheequa's hand and danced her away from Cya. At least those goddamn ballroom dancing lessons he had had to take when he was twelve were finally paying off... she was drunk, he was drunk, the DJ was playing techno, but dammit, he could still lead. 

He ignored the twin expressions of astonishment on Cyanide and Skids' faces and sat the somewhat dazed Rasheequa down on a convenient chair in a quiet corner. She blinked at him. 

"Sheeqs?" he said gently. She leaned towards him. 

And then followed an extremely confusing several seconds in which he was not sure exactly what was going on, except that the boy he was kissing seemed to have awfully soft breasts, and ooh, a really lovely way of sucking on his tongue... 

The Sobriety Fairy must have paid a visit, because they both jumped back simultaneously. 

"Gaah!" "Yeargh!" 

"What da hell?" 

Harley blushed. "Um... you were sorta distracting Skids and Cy, so I was sorta distracting you, but you sorta distracted me from distracting you for a minute there." 

Rasheequa shot him her best Skeptical Glare. "You seein' what it's like to play for the other other team now?" 

"No, really, it wasn't for me at all, you think I'd *want* to kiss you?" 

He couldn't suppress a cringe. She didn't try to suppress her wince. 

"Gee t'anks. Look, I don't kiss for charity, mon. Maybe for a minute there, I think you're somebody else, but now go away before people t'ink we're together? *Somebody* at this party got to be straight. But not dem, huh?" she waved at Skids and Cya, who were now looming over them. 

Yikes... had Skids and Cyanide seen him kissing a woman? He was never going to live that down, not after ew-ing over Willow and... and every other woman Cyanide had ever drooled over... 

But Cy was still just looking grumpy, and Skids was looking - like Skids. 

"Um, Harls?" he said. "Mik's here looking for you... I wasn't sure where you had gone with Rasheequa." 

And, his height making him easy to spot as he approached, Harley saw Mik looking... ooh... territorial, and intent on marking it. Suddenly, he wanted very much to get home. 

Skids was kneeling down next to Rasheequa. 

"Hey, are you feeling okay?" 

She looked at him kindly, but with exasperation. 

"Ta t'ink I got more action outta da gay boy dan *either* of you two..." 

As one, the heads of Cyanide and Mik jerked to look at her. 

"Wha'?" 

Eyebrows were reaching record highs. 

"Four gorgeous guys and dey got to be two couples. Dey must put someting in da water around here..." she muttered. 

Cyanide gasped. 

Mik, Harley, and Skids smiled, and as one, their heads swiveled to look at him. 

He blinked under the pressure of all those expectant eyes. Harley held his breath. Was he maybe... actually... going to get to go home? He could stop being Clue Guy and start being... Oh-My-God-Yes Guy sounded good... 

Cyanide's eyes darted left. Right. No escape. And then, very tentatively, he smiled. 

"Um... Skids... can I talk to you?" 

::End::


	2. Epilogue

They are sitting on the bed in Skids' dorm room, kissing. They had started off for Skids' dorm without discussion, and as they walked Cyanide had fumbled through the beginning of an explanation, and at some point they must have started holding hands, because Skids had had to drop his to find his key.

Cyanide is not sure who had reached for whose hand first, nor is he at all clear on who lunged forward the second Skids' door shut behind them and initiated the kiss that is presently in progress. He is very aware the sharp bristles of Skids' uneven shave prickling his upper lip, that somehow he has managed to sit down on his wallet, that his neck is starting to ache horribly from the awkward angle, leaning forward and tilted a bit up. Skids tastes like bubblegum, one of those fruity flavors maybe, and whoa! Was that tongue? Yeah, that was tongue... Cyanide pushes himself back, away, upright, and uses the opportunity to rub at the crick in his neck.

Skids blinks at him. "What's wrong?"

Cyanide gulps. "Shouldn't we, you know, talk about this?"

Skids tilts his head. It's an odd, birdlike gesture, and Cyanide would find it feminine if he hadn't seen Skids make it a hundred times over his coloring books. "Talk? What about?" Cyanide could melt from the confusion in those warm, warm eyes.

"Look, I don't want to push you to do anything you're - "

Cyanide is cut off as Skids springs, tackles him, slams him back down on the bed. Kisses him savagely, bruisingly, taking Cya's breath until he is gasping for air every time their lips part.

Then abruptly pushes himself up on his arms, leaving Cy making fish- mouthed motions. "So... you don't... want to... pressure me?", he asks, panting, and Cyanide is acutely aware of the way Skids' hips are thrust against his own.

"Umph," he whimpers, and then he is pinned under Skids again. He is kissed, swiftly, gently, ferociously, every whim that takes Skids taken out on him as well. Skids digs into him in front. His wallet digs into him from behind, and the double impalement is more than he can stand; he bucks his hips, rolls them over, and reaches into his back pocket with a loud sigh of relief.

"Cya," Skids giggles, "I'm doing this for free," and Cyanide is laughing, collapsing in relaxed glee as he tosses the offending wallet somewhere across the room. Tension he didn't even know was there pours out of him and he turns his face into Skids' neck. And it's Skids, and so of course things are going to be okay, somehow, however the reaction proceeds, however things change.


End file.
